Finding Home
by CogScript
Summary: Vivian's 15 and running to a man she never met, with only the name and adress from years old letters to go on, in the pale hopes to escape the burden of her mother. Will La Push be her safe haven or is she chasing a fantasy bigger than she realises?pauloc
1. The Letters

**Hi! Dark Blossems here! Yeah, this is my first story and I really have no idea where I'm going to take this ^-^'. I would super appreciate if you tell me what you think and what you want to happen! I'll do my best to improvise!**

**Please go easy on me! This is the first time sharing any of my work! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters.**

**Warning: This story contains references to child abuse, drugs, drinking, violence and strong language.**

_**Italics = thoughts**_

_**Chapter 1:**_

**The Letters**

_1 more hour,__ tops. _I promised myself.

I was sat on a stool in the 3rd seedy bar tonight. My birth mother was sat in a booth about 5 meters away drunk out of her mind arching her breasts into some guys face who's hand was thrust up her skirt. It was safe to say the view was no better than my patients; they were practically fucking in plain sight. I turned back to the bar when I saw my 'mothers' hand creeping toward the zipper of the trampy cunts trousers.

I thought I was going to throw up, and I hadn't even had a drop of drink. I never did, we'd needed the money to much.

I ran a hand through my crimson tresses, for once unhidden by a hood in the terribly lit bar and sighed as they fell back in front of my face limply and in need of a good wash. I thumbed the edge of the cigarette pack in my pocket longingly. It was pure fucking _agony_ to be watching every damn second on the clock moving in a slow hypnotic circle. But I didn't have much longer to wait. Soon I would be 'free' as they say.

That wasn't really the right word for me though. You could say I was 'free' now. My own mom was less than cheap I'll tell you that. But mine was a different brand of freedom. I didn't go to school, we couldn't afford it. I had to work 3 jobs just so we a decent amount of food to eat. I didn't have a curfew, I didn't need to have one, I went home when Katniss, my mother, needed dragging back.

_Which didn't look like long now._ I thought. I had lost count on how many glasses she'd knocked back. I didn't try to limit her, I'd get a slap if I did, and I needed her stone dead asleep to make this as smooth as possible.

I was running away.

I'd been planning it for months, ever since I'd found the letters.

I clutched my paper treasures berried deep in one of my pockets. I remembered the day so clearly. It had literally been the happiest day in my life.

The only day I knew I would treasure forever. And it was all thanks to drink, cigarettes, and pure luck.

*Flash Back*

I'd just carried a smashed mass of singing drunkard, otherwise known as my biological mother, up 5 flights of stairs and into a the dingy flat that we'd been living in for two weeks. It was 3 in the morning, I was exhausted and unlucky for us; I'd passed the landlady coming up here… I doubted we'd have a roof much longer. In short; slapping the shit out of my overbearingly masochistic/sadistic mother and ditching her in the stairwell was becoming a more and more attractive option.

One thing good about being constantly broke and having the next thing up from dirt was locks. You had no need for them. Since all our belongings were pretty much hauled up from the scrap heap anyway no one would actually go to the trouble of nicking our stuff. So I only had to take my hand away from the mom whore long enough to open the door and didn't have the trouble of juggling singing drunk-slut and keys. I kicked the door wide open. I shivered as a gust of cold air bit my cheeks, the cardboard taped over the broken widow did little to keep the cruel night air out.

I dumped her on a second-hand couch that had been left here to rot by whoever. I didn't care right now. It was a couch, 5 up from cold hard concrete floor if you asked me. I stretched and longed to slump over and just catch some Z's. An intoxicated mother was annoying to deal with. A hung over and hungry mother was much worse. I filled a glass of water and handed her without even looking up, she took it. It'd been the arrangement of things so long even off her rocker she knew the routine.

I busied myself making me and her some sandwiches from some wafer thin chicken I found in the fridge and minutes later she started bawling her eyes out. I just rolled my eyes and carried on like normal. This seamed to be our only mother-daughter routine. She'd get drunk (or high) be really happy, then, the moment she got home she'd start bawling her fucking eyes out. And tomorrow she'd likely be pissed or drinking even more cheep shit to get rid of the hang over. I really couldn't give a shit about her ramblings anymore. I didn't even bother to look like I was paying attention, I didn't need too, she wouldn't remember anything tomorrow anyway. But tonight wasn't her usual drunken whimpering and wining. No. Lord have mercy on me; she started talking about my non-existent father!

I think I might have stopped breathing, I was light headed. Never in my 15 years of being her genetic slave had I ever heard her even mention my biological father. And the one time I had asked I'd had to go to A and E. She'd chucked me down a flight of stairs and I'd broken my arm. Sure taught me to keep my trap shut. And now of all times, when I want more than anything to slip to snooze land for a couple hours, she opens her big flapper and cries like she just lost her whole effing _world_. I couldn't move for a minute when she mentioned him. It was just too fucking unbelievable. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to shut up or spill the beans. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about this man I'd never met. And so many questions that had floated about unanswered for 15 years were bubbling to the surface.

My mom never spoke about _him_. So, ignoring my fatigue and instead of just waiting for her to pass out like was the norm, I sat next to her shoved the chicken sandwich into her hand and listened to what the mom-whore had to say.

Mostly she just cried and moaned about how much she missed him. But now and then I picked up on the occasional fact. He had dark hair. He had tan skin. His eyes were lighter than mine. He ate loads but never put on weight. It was almost enough to make me smile, but the expression felt alien and uncomfortable, so I just listened. It was my equivalent to a bed time story; knights in shining armour, adventures and romance.

A fantasy.

I wished very much I could have stepped into her story. Her slurred drunken words swallowed me whole.

"He was such a beautiful man, loved me more than the _worlds._ And he had such an unusual eye colour! Purple! Like amethysts! Goodness knows where you got that aaaawful waterfall of blood though. It makes you look you tipped a bucket of blood all over your head!"

Ouch. That might have stung if she hadn't been referring to my bright red hair as a waterfall of blood since before I could remember. I was _not_ a carrot top. If anything, I was a big ripe tomato top. I'm assuming my mother ran away before she found out she was pregnant, because from the sound of this fantasy father he wouldn't be the kind to let her do this to herself. Some shit my mother had pumped into herself while I suffered silently in her womb had turned my hair red, not ginger or natural sexy red but bright, when-the-sun-catches-it-it-looks-like-it's-on-fire blood red. Talk about standing out. It was annoying as fuck, cause whenever it did catch the light it drew a lot of attention. Hence the love I held for baggy hoodies with huge hoods.

Even though I knew the likelihood of this person actually existing and not just being some random delusion of my mom whore's, it was very much to my chagrin when she started to ramble on about packs and 'betraying her'. I just wanted to shake her and yell at her to stop rambling about dogs and _tell me more about my dad_! I really had to wonder if my mom had completely lost it sometimes. The things she came out with made it seem impossible for her not to be insane.

So many unanswered questions. Was I conceived in love or drunkenness? Did you really care or was he just the next best shag? Dose he know about me? Dose he care? Where is he now? Why did you or he leave?

I let my disappointment go though. I didn't have much happening for me and I wasn't going to pine after some fantasy father to help me. Not being able to go to school and learn something that might actually help me make something of myself and barely scraping a living out of my jobs was annoying enough. And I was only 15 so I couldn't get a place of my own, otherwise I would be long gone, years gone believe me. (I know what you're thinking, 'just lie about your age!' But seriously, I was 5ft 3. No one was gonna' believe me if I said I was over 16.)

When she finally passed out I just left her on the sofa. There wasn't much else to do. No bed to put her in. The 'apartment' we had was more of a room with an attached kitchen a bathroom and a closet I'd never opened. My legs started to cramp and I stood up, fatigue forgotten, and leaned stock still against the built-in kitchen counter.

As much as I didn't want to think about him, my fantasy father kept crashing back into my thoughts. And I couldn't help but notice that, even if it was all made up, he really did sound like a nice guy. My mom was usually most truthful (sometimes delusional) when bonehead drunk, that's the only reason I ever valued listening to her in this state, and why I was always careful picking apart fact from fiction.

But suddenly it was like this whole other part on my life had been revealed before my eyes; one I didn't realise had been hidden until tonight. My hands trembled as the shock kicked in, I realised just how bloody much I wanted to meat this man. The man I was meant to call dad. The man I'd never been bothered about until this exact moment.

I needed a cigarette.

I fumbled with the packet and it took way longer than normal to find my lighter. I grunted in annoyance when the only thing my close to a flame my lighter made was pathetic sparks. My temper got the best of me and I threw the thing at the wall making a decent sized dent on the white wash plaster and a crack in the cheap green plastic. Clear fluid leaked out and dripped on the multiple stained carpet. Fuck it all, I grabbed mom whore's purse (I'm kinda surprised she managed to keep a hold of it) my trembling was getting worse though, all I managed to do was open the zip before my grip slackened and the purse slipped from my hands.

Frustration ripped through my chest and my whole body began to shake. I was torn between wanting to burst into tears and shaking my mother wake and beating the alcohol out of her.

I watch it fall, it was like it happened in slow motion. Paper fell out of the purse and spilled all over the floor. The distraction stopped my shaking instantly. Why was she carrying around paper? I bent over to examine one of them. They were envelopes. I shuffled through the purse, there was a whole flippin' _load_ of them. I remembered something she told me as we left. '_Viv' baby, remind me through out the trash tonight will ya'? I have some crap that's been building up for ages and I want to get rid of them cause there cluttering up my bag._'

I'd dismissed it before. I'd just looked at her weirdly and nodded assuming she was trying to set me up for one of her sick games. She _never_ took out trash. (unless she was referring to me) And I'd been kicked out in the cold more times than I cared to remember.

All of the envelopes looked unopened. Some were yellowing slightly. My chest clenched tightly, and there was a sour taste in my mouth. I flipped one of them over and stared at the name for what seemed like hours.

Vivian Evergreen

My name. My breath caught and the shaking in my hands returned slightly.

I flipped another over.

It was the same name, in the same hand writing.

I scooped up the lot and checked every address.

Every last stinking one of those letters was addressed to _me_.

Who had been writing to me? Who was my mother trying to keep me away from?

My gaze sauntered over to Katniss's unconscious state.

No… Surly not. It couldn't be… But…

I stared at where my mother had collapsed on the sofa, her almost hysterical wails ringing in my ears. I felt dizzy. Light headed. I wanted to throw up.

I ripped open one of the letters completely ignoring the contents and just stared at those 5 words written at the end that changed my life. It didn't matter I could barely pass for literate. It didn't matter I'd learnt to read by spelling out the names of liquor brands. Those 5 words still changed my life.

_Your father,_

_Allen Theodore Evergreen_

Well… Fuck.

_**X The Letters X**_

The next day, I didn't know what to _do_ with myself. Last night was like a dream, I would have thought so if it weren't for the wad of paper envelopes I had hidden in various places on my person.

I couldn't bring myself to open any of the letters. The one I had opened I'd carefully sealed back up for fear of losing it.

I wasn't sure how I was meant to react to knowing my father had tried (and failed) to make contact with me for so many years. Should I jump for joy? Be pissed he didn't try to look for me? Or maybe he _had_ tried to look for me but we'd moved around so much he couldn't find me in time before we'd already moved on.

In the end all I could do was _nothing_. For the next few days I was just _off_.

_The lights were on but nobody'__s home._

I wasn't my usual sarcastic, dry humoured self. Instead of a mask of boredom, annoyance and snarky arrogance I was quiet, empty and lost in thought.

My mom noticed nothing.

**There you go! The first chapter! Please tell me what you think!**


	2. Waiting

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters.**

**Warning: This story contains references to child abuse, drugs, drinking, violence and strong language.**

_**Italics = thoughts**_

_**Chapter 2:**_

**Waiting**

The air outside was bitter and crisp. It smelt like wet concrete and second-hand smoke. The walls were a patchy grey that matched smell and the lights flickered sketchily trying there best to brighten the shadowy stairwell. Even with their faint glow the sloping steps were still a danger hazard unless you had practised hiking up them a few days.

I closed our-

_Her_ apartment door.

I didn't live with that woman anymore.

I felt a sharp pang of guilt stab through my lungs. I didn't feel free or liberated like I expected, or a rush of excitement about finally meeting my father. I just felt guilt and remorse for doing this to Katniss. It know it's stupid to feel responsibility for a person that hates you and treats you like shit, but in our own messed up, mother-daughter way, we lent on each other for emotional support. We didn't help each other or have touching moments of civility, but it was just easier to have someone there as a constant in your life. Just as something to ground you when the rest of the world slips away.

I opened the door and checked Katniss one last time. She was sleeping soundly on the floor where she'd past out, clothes rumpled, black hair tumbling around her face like a nest. She looked so young when she slept, though I didn't know her real age.

I shut the door quietly and jogged down the stairs taking them two at a time. I didn't want to waste months planning just to chuck down the drain in a sudden moment of sentiment!

"Pathetic!" I hissed to myself as I left the building. I had to stop myself from scampering to the subway faster than a bat out of hell to put as much distance as possible between me and the mom whore.

She was poison.

I was hasty boarding the subway, where I would then catch a train, then another train, then I would walk and hitch hike till I reached Forks, Washington DC and cross the border to the La Push Indian Reservation. From there I had fuck all idea what I would do.

It took half an hour to reach the first train station, and I was so jumpy, I couldn't stay still. I imagined Katniss waltzing aboard the subway snarling with rage, dragging me back to the 1 room apartment and beating out even the faintest whisper of escape from my mind for another 10 years.

While waiting for the train to come, I kept glancing at the entrance as if expecting all these random strangers to turn and accuse me of abandoning the only person that ever cared for me. Cold crept under my skin, and I shivered involuntarily. Doubt crept into my head. What on earth did I think I was doing? What was I hoping to achieve by running to this fantasy father? There was no guarantee that he'd want me anymore, he'd probably found a wife and had his own family and forgotten about me completely. There was also there question of what if he did accept me. What then? Would I have to go to school? Make friends? Could I change enough to fit in with normal everyday teen's and worry about clothes and boyfriends? I blanched at the thought. What kind of daughter had he wanted? He knew my name and of my existence, but I'd lived with Katniss for the past 15 years. People can change a lot over such a long period of time. I didn't even know what he looked like!

My train pulled into the station, and despite my doubts I still managed to pull myself together to get on the train. It was quiet, and the train was mostly empty at this time of night but I still felt claustrophobic and trapped.

The seats were hard and worn, and there was chewing gum under the window frame. I didn't care though. I virtually collapsed on the pair of seats and promptly fell into a fitful sleep, uncaring of what would come tomorrow, and hoping it would bring me peace of mind.

I stirred at muffled voices close by. I cracked an eye open reluctantly, confused when I saw a young man hovering by my feet. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and attempted to sit straighter and hissed at the pins and needled that erupted all over my body at the movement. I did not feel any better today. I felt greasy and grouchy and I had a crick in my neck. I felt a jolt and almost lost my balance, pushing my arms out to steady myself on the back of the next seat.

Wait… seat?

_I'm on the train_. I remembered. How long was I asleep?

The man at my feat cleared his throat. I stared up at him. He was handsome, pale with thick dark hair, dark coat and dark blue eyes. I spared a glance at the rest of the compartment and realised it was full. Ah, now it made sense. While I was sleeping I'd slumped over and I was taking up the only other spare seat.

Reluctantly, I sat up and turned my body to face the seat in front of me with my feat firm on the floor, and the man sat down next to me. I gazed out my window at the cloudy weather. It was supposed to be really wet at Forks, I hoped it didn't take to long to get to La Push by hitch hiking or I might die of pneumonia before I even have the chance to knock on my Fathers door.

I listened to the announcement before the next train stop and if I remembered correctly my stop was the one after that. I sighed in relieve that I hadn't missed my stop and silently thanked the man sitting next to me for waking me.

At my stop I stood up and so did the man to let me out, I thanked him and sent him my signature crooked half grin. I rubbed my arms when a gust of cold air hit me getting off the train. It was even colder today than it was last night.

I ignored the dull ache in my chest as I recalled last night. It was about 7 o'clock in the morning, so Katniss probably wasn't awake yet. Probably didn't know I'd abandoned her. I winced and drove myself to keep moving so I didn't have to think. I had left everything I could spare with her. I was wearing both my changes of clothing, (the only decent clothing I had since I didn't want to make it obvious I was a street kid). I hadn't bothered with food. I wouldn't have been able to eat anyway with all the little flips and twists my stomach was doing and I'd accustomed to eating the bare minimum over the years to conserve what little money we had.

I hated waiting around for the next train. I hate waiting. You can spend an awful amount of time thinking while you're waiting, and it's easier not to think at all.

To distract me from counting the minutes till Katniss would wake and realise I wasn't coming home from work later I thought about what it would be like in La Push. What I would do if I wasn't wanted there. Get a job I suppose. I don't know if crawling back to Katniss on my hands and knees would be an option. I don't know if she'd care if I was even there at all.

Oddly enough I felt less panicked surrounded by people. Perhaps it was years of hanging around in questionable locations full of the homeless, the hopeless and the horny. It was calming to know none of these people gave a toss about if my clothes could keep them warmer at night or if my shoes would fit them.

The next train journey took just as long as the first one. I didn't fall asleep this time though so it felt like forever. Eventually I ran out of questions to ponder so I just sat and stared at the scenery.

I felt…

At peace.

Just staring at the scenery. It made me feel old; like I'd done this a thousand times before. I could almost imagine I was just a normal girl with normal problems. I could almost imagine I was just on the train to go up town to shop for something silly like a summer dress. It is the end of autumn, but still, it was in my imagination so it could be whenever I wanted it to be. I could be whoever I wanted to be.

I heard I voice on the intercom announcing we'd be arriving soon. But I just closed my eyes and retreated even further into my fantasy. Thinking up friends I'd never meet, the family I'd never have, the problems that would never matter. Not to me.

I just let myself plunge further and further down into my dream. And for a fleeting moment, I almost believed it.

**Okay second chapter! Kind of a filler really…**

**But I wanted everyone to see that Vivian isn't always pissed or monotone! I wanted to make her seem more flawed, and she has some serious confidence issues! I think we scratch just a little past her outer personification and into what really is going on inside her head (ironically we don't actually hear any of her thoughts in this chapter)**

**Sorry it took so long! I'm just such a perfectionist and before I knew it I was back to school and GCSE and I've been running around like a headless chicken to keep up!**

**Sorry again and thanks to everyone for their reviews!**


	3. Chosen

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters.**

**Warning: This story contains references to child abuse, drugs, drinking, violence and strong language. It may be potentially crap and creepy!**

_**Italics = thoughts**_

_**Chapter 3:**_

**Chosen**

I scowled at the rain, willing to evaporate. From arriving in Seattle, leaving the train, buying a coffee-to-go with some of the little money I carried, and walking to the entrance it had begun to poor down outside. Leaving me stranded inside the train station.

Fuck.

I seriously contemplated stomping me feet like a five years old and cursing the havens for hating me so much. I'd spent a total of 14 hours on trains and there hadn't been so much as one drop of water that fell from the sky. But the moment I have to travel by foot it had to rain.

I did have a waterproof jacket. Note the 'jacket' part. I would still get soaking wet from the waist down. If that wasn't enough, I was in a strange place with no experience of the lay out or territory. When I say territory I mean by homeless standard. The homeless tend to circulate there places to stay so they don't get caught by the authority. And there are only so many places to sleep in one city so they also tend to form gangs for security and strength. I had no such luxury. I was in a gang once. It'd been good fun. I could have almost called it a family. Until one night they pulled a knife out on some helpless newbie runaway. I could never look at them the same again.

But back to the point. I was in a strange city with no idea about the inner workings of said city and it was raining. It just had to be fucking _raining_ didn't it!

I growled lowly to myself. I wouldn't be able to stay here all night, security was too good. I'd just have to wait it out till I finished my coffee and if it hadn't stopped by then I'd have to leave anyway before I became to conspicuous.

Of course if anything the rain just got harder while I waited. Eventually a police car drove by and I saw one of them look my way while driving past. _Time to move. _I thought.

I through away my coffee cup and jogged out into the rain. My pants were soaked through in a matter in minutes, my tatty trainers too. They made loud squelching sounds as I jogged through the city, away from the lights and over to the dark side of town. At least all the running kept my stamina up. Running was my past time when I wasn't working or on mom-whore duty. You never knew when you might need it.

As I left the lights behind it became easier to see what was around me. Well not 'see' exactly but it made all my other senses more alert. Like if you can smell cigarettes close by, don't run by that ally. If you hear rowdy voices, it's probably not drunk teenagers but drunk armed gangs of homeless people.

It's just common sense really.

But as I continued to run, the only thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. The streets were bare. Shady bars with only one or two customers. No graffiti markings on the walls (if you didn't know sometimes gangs put up marks to place claim on their territory). Either Seattle had really good police or the gangs had somewhere better to be.

I slowed to stop after a while to catch my breath and check if I was really as alone as I seemed. I looked back the way I came. Just a wet empty road. I checked for cameras but I couldn't see anything that would prevent anyone from coming down here (other than the obvious lack of light).

I stopped and just tried to dredge up a feeling about the whole place. Perhaps I'd missed something? Perhaps I was in some real bad-ass gang's territory that no one else was stupid enough to enter. The more I waited the more tense I got. It was probably just me but the whole city seemed to have an ominous presence hanging over it.

The cold began to seep in again, and I hesitated one last time before I started to jog again. Slower this time, more careful about the volume of my footfalls.

About 2 blocks away from where I'd first stopped a weird smell tickled my nose and my head screamed at me to '_Get Away!'_ I edged closer to the weird smell, dampened by the rain, and ended up in front of bin. One of those big metal ones that seemed like they were hardly ever emptied.

_It'__s incredibly thick to be here! Why on earth am I risking my safety for something as indulgent as curiosity? _I thought.

I tried to carry on going and ignore the burning stench rising from the closed bin, trying to pass it off with thoughts like; _It's a bin, of course it will smell bad!_

But the more I walked away the more I thought; _That smell is _not_ normal for everyday trash._

My curiosity eventually won out and I headed back to the bin. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and cautiously lifted the lid. Even with rain hammering down around me, and the gagging stench that made my eyes water, the world fell silent, my stomach churned at the sight before me.

It took me a few seconds to recognise what the black mass of charcoaled flesh and bone was. There was a sooty and empty eyed skull staring up at me with bits of flesh clinging futilely to the exterior.

I launched my self away from the bin and threw up all over the side walk. My stomach heaved and regurgitated all of the coffee I'd drunk earlier. I felt lightheaded, and sick. I was frozen to the bone. Everything screamed at me to run, and I wished with all my might that I could do just that but I was suddenly week with fatigue and my knees and arms were trembling so bad I couldn't even bring myself to crawl away.

I slowly dragged myself away from the running pool of sick and lent against a brick wall of what I assumed was an abandoned shop of some sort with my back to the bin that marked the grave of whoever's corpse lie within.

My head was pounding in tune with my heartbeat that thundered like war drums in my ears. I tilted my head up and let the rain cool my face, even though my body felt like it was floating in the Arctic sea.

_Oh my god, someone was burned to death and left in a bin to rot._ I swallowed thickly and tried to breathe slowly. I clutched my legs to my chest as tightly as I could and rocked back and forth, trying to desperately forget what I just saw or convince myself I was hallucinating from having not eaten in a while. But that charred hollow skull was scorched into my memory.

_That person could have had a family and children, or pets, or a job!_ I thought. _Or they could have had none. _Was the whisper after that.

I stopped breathing. I found a corpse, in a bin, on a deserted street, accompanied by no one, with no idea how long ago that person had been dumped there. Oh Shit.

I could be close to the murderer now, he could still be around here, prowling the streets.

I felt a fresh wave of fear cascade over my body and I shakily, with aid from the wall, got to my feet and tried to run. The most I could manage was a shaky slow power walk. I didn't know what to do! I'd found a body! Should I report it? Hide? I should tell someone, what if that person is never found and their family is just left hanging with no idea what happened to them.

I stumbled through the streets in the dark, now much harder to navigate. Had I turned left or right at that junction? Had I passed that sign post before? The seconds felt like hours as my wet clothing dragged my down like chains.

I have no idea how long it took me but eventually I stumbled across a speck of hope in this dark night; a phone booth! I gasped in relieve and ran with all my might. The light shone like a beacon, I preyed it was usable.

I shut myself inside like it could ward off insane pyromaniac murderers. My hands shook as I picked up the phone and fumbled dialling 911. I released I breath I didn't know I'd been holding when a cold woman's voice answered. She spoke formally with a clipped edge. When I tried to speak my voice shook and I had to stifle sobs. It took a few tries but I eventually got the words out.

"I found a body. A dead body." The woman calmly asked me for my location, the location of the body, and my name. It still took few times but I managed to tell her my name and the name of the last street I could remember passing, I told her I couldn't remember the name of the street I found the body at, I'd been to scared to do anything but run.

The woman's even voice helped calm down significantly. She told me to wait were I was and the police would come get me. I glanced out at the dark worriedly, but as she went to put the phone down I gasped loudly. I assume she heard me and asked me if something was wrong.

To my left, right outside the phone booth, were two sharp and eerie eyes, the colour of violets. He had deathly pale skin and his hair was sticking to his face and neck in the rain. His eyes danced with amusement and malicious intent and a sick sadistic smirk curled his ridiculously perfect lips.

I couldn't speak or move as the woman on the other end of the line repeatedly asked me what was wrong. But I couldn't answer. My gaze was fixed on the angelic embodiment of Wrath and Envy.

We both stood on opposite sides of the glass locked in a staring contest. It was strange, even with the rain dripping into his eyes he didn't even blink.

After what felt like hours he gave me one last promising smirk and sauntered off into the darkness, leaving me standing staring after his shadow. My body broke out in sweats even though I was dripping wet. And I dreaded to think that this might not be the last I'll see of him.

**Dun dun dun!**

**I know, I'm evil!**

**It gave me chills imagining this while I wrote it! Hope you all liked it too!**

**Please R&R**

**(P.S. I am not, nor have I ever been to U.S.A, so if I get anything wrong please tell me in a review so I can correct it!)**

**~Thanks for reading! - Dark**


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